


The 'Oops All Feelings' Edition

by Iristedeu



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Bard Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Carbuncles, Drabble Collection, Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual polymonogamous relationship, Fluff, Multi, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), No Incest, One Shot Collection, We don't believe in time bubbles here, how do arcanists work?, you know because why not?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iristedeu/pseuds/Iristedeu
Summary: The melody of Alvaar’s life is comprised of all the passing notes and meters, however brief or long. Building together into a song that stretches over and summarizes a lifetime.A collection of various feel-sy oneshots/drabbles that don’t quite make their own story. Predominantly fluff with an established WoL and the twins, but also platonic moments with all the Scions, twins included.Tags and characters updated as things are added. Timeframe/Warnings/Spoilers before each entry. Rating changed to Mature for more freedom in what can be posted.
Relationships: Alisaie Leveilleur/Warrior of Light, Alphinaud Leveilleur/Warrior of Light
Comments: 32
Kudos: 26





	1. Dueling Practice (Platonic Alvaar x Alisaie)

**Author's Note:**

> **_Time Frame_ ** _: Post Shadowbringers. No Spoilers_
> 
> **_Notes_ ** _: Just a drabble for a passing request running off from the ‘_ [ _Cooking Together/Teaching Eachother’_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204097/chapters/58473892) _._
> 
> _Specifically, ‘Alvaar getting his butt kicked as a Red Mage.’_

“You’re kind of terrible at this,” Alisaie remarks flatly, head tilted to the side in thought.

It draws Alvaar up short, huffing for air faintly as he continues to hold the lunge under her scrutiny. The focus floating above his left hand abruptly drops and he fumbles to catch it, overbalancing and landing with a thump on the dirt of the practice yard. Wiping at the sweat on his face, he chuckled weakly at her raised brow.

“Poor stance again?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean. You are nearly incapable of focusing aether at the same time as you engage. Your weapon’s focus falters on your attacks and responses,” she pointed out frankly.

“Well... I DID warn you that I’m aether inept...” he reminded simply.

“You’re not aether inept,” Alisaie scoffed.

“No, I’m pretty well useless magically.”

“Alvaar I’ve seen you in battle. You’re not aether inept. In fact, you have better ability to channel aether and store it at the ready than most instructors I was tutored under. If anything, I would guess the method for channeling aether taught in the magic schools of Eorzea is what is difficult for you.”

Shaking her head she waved it off and continued. “In any case, what I am getting at is that you’re still too inflexible in your approach to conflict. Your movement and approach are always the same. Fencing is about strategy and learning to exploit advantages against opponents’ weaknesses. If you always take the same actions in a duel and never introduce mix-ups or alterations, a skilled duelist will trounce you every time.”

“Sure,” he murmured, pondering her words. “Not to make excuses but I am still quite new to this though.”

“It’s been a year. You’re not that new to it. But I’m not pointing it out to nitpick you, I’m more puzzled because you adapt quickly as a Bard, while channeling aether, firing a bow, and singing. How is none of that distracting but holding up a focus while attacking is?”

Alvaar blinked at her slowly, finally thumping his head back against the dirt of the yard and staring at the sky. “I don’t know... practice I imagine. I’ve used a bow so long it’s like second nature and I’ve been musically inclined for a decade. It just sort of flows together at this point.”

Tilting her head and closing her eyes in thought a moment, Alisaie finally fixed him with a sharp stare and raised her sword. “On your feet and let’s have a duel.”

“Alisaie... come on. I’m tired,” he huffed, somehow managing to fall just short of a whine.

“I said on your feet Aldaviir,” she ordered, watching him haul himself to his feet and match her stance. Flicking her sword tip to the side in feint and noting the focus in his left-hand waver even as he didn’t move to defense of it. “I had trouble doing the same when I studied under X’rhun Tia. For the first month I dropped my magic focus constantly. It’s an easy beginner mistake from letting your hold on it with aether slip. But _your_ attention to it doesn’t waver, it’s your aether flow that stutters. If you were truly aether inept, you wouldn’t be able to maintain a fifteen-minute constant supply of it for multiple Bardsong spells chained together or even simultaneously,” she remarked drily. “ _Without it wavering_ , might I add. If anything, I think your supply grows stronger to a point. So humor me. I want you to sing.”

Giving her a puzzled look, he tilted his head in question. “Sing what?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever you do to start your songs. Whatever is easiest to mind. But I think for you, using music to harness and focus your aether may start you on getting used to the feel of what it should be like. And from there we can work backwards so we don’t have a singing duelist annoying everyone in combat,” Alisaie reasoned, tapping her practice saber to his slowly. “Give it a try. I know you’re not shy about singing.”

“You don’t know that,” he scoffed. “Usually whatever you hear I’ve practiced.”

“Well you go on about it being from the heart, so improvise. Fencing is about adaptation anyway. You master the basics until you learn to bend the rules to further your personal strategies. I’ll go half speed to let you get used to it. Come on, before I beat you black and blue anyway because you’re dawdling,” she teased, again flicking her wrist so the sword point glanced off his blade.

Heaving a deep sigh, he ducked his chin in determined concentration, fingers gripping at the air where the magic focus floated. A low note sounded in his throat, a few practice bars hummed out as they started into a slow back and forth exchange. Each time he moved to answer the focus continued to waver, but it did so less and less. Gradually the soft song he was humming shifted to something simple, notes rising and falling thoughtlessly to the steady and relaxed tempo of their duel.

The very abrupt strike that she retaliated with to break that pace almost threw him. Almost. An improvement over the countless times before when it did, but he’d managed to shift and counter it just in time before adjusting his footing to respond back with his own strike.

That was a bit surprising, but Alisaie didn’t make a habit of letting her guard down just because Alvaar was still learning and not particularly great at it yet. But it did probably start them into one of the more spirited and unpredictable exchanges they’d had in his training thus far.

Alvaar was a decent fencer really. Still leagues under her own skill, but the gap that had yawned between them when he had to practice as a Red Mage instead of just practicing fencing had always been glaring in its width.

Whatever this was doing was clearly working. Even if it didn’t stop her from scoring a hit against his side with a swift thrust.

A startled noise left him, cutting off his song before he was blowing out a sigh in defeat and catching the focus that dropped automatically. Even so, a good-natured grin slipped to his face as he backed up a pace and resumed a starting stance that she mirrored. “Better?” he asked.

“Quite. Now let’s take it from the top.”


	2. Moonstone (Platonic Alvaar/Alphinaud)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Frame: Post Shadowbringers. No Spoilers.  
> Notes: Platonic Alvaar/Alphinaud. All hail the carbuncle fluff. Glory to the glowiest and fuzziest neck warmer.

Twitching an ear as the doorknob to his room jiggled, Alvaar ignored it as he continued stitching together his latest commission. A second and then third attempt sounded before he sighed, left himself at a spot he could easily return, and rose to his feet.

Opening the door, he raised a brow as a brilliant white carbuncle slipped into the room, rubbing up against his leg and twining around his feet affectionately. It was only out of sheer familiarity that it didn’t knock the Bard over given the carbuncle was easily the size of a dog. Finally sitting practically on top of one of his feet it stared up at him expectantly with a soft chirp.

“Hey Carbi,” Alvaar greeted flatly, stooping over with a groan as he picked the rather large critter up. “Oof... I’m getting too old for this...”

Giving a low squeak, the summon almost seemed to give him a disapproving look before distracting itself by nuzzling into his neck.

“Yes, yes I know. ‘You’re not that old yet’ that’s what your master would say yes? Little chit,” he crooned sweetly, not surprised when it got a second grumpier chirp anyway. No matter what Alphinaud insisted about the nature of summoning and carbuncles, Alvaar would always remain unconvinced that they didn’t pick up _some_ form of sentience. It was much of why he’d given the critter a nickname (though Alphinaud didn’t approve of it in the slightest.) The moonstone carbuncle in his arms clearly had enough intelligence to understand his words and pass judgment, often in alignment with the man who created him, so he thought it rude not to name it.

But for its intelligence, it seemed just a bit of cuddling and affection often resolved any upset in the creature (also rather like its master when it came to compliments but Alvaar would never say it.) Soothing a hand over silky impossibly plush fur, the Bard chuckled as the carbuncle purred and nuzzled closer still.

“Good to see you Carbi. I take it Alphi is working late again?” He asked, not expecting an answer as he settled into his worn out armchair and continued petting the foxlike creature he held cradled to his chest.

It wasn’t something that happened overly often, but occasionally the Scholar would decide to test his abilities and they’d have a temporary pushy housecoeurl on... well Alvaar’s hands usually. The summon was always well behaved around his master but once Alphinaud got too distracted with his work it would sometimes wander and settle into the Bards lap if he were nearby. A bit strange but Alvaar didn’t pretend to understand what made a summon work and Alphinaud had never had much in the way of explanation for him.

And for distracting as it could be, the carbuncle was still very sweet with its affections so Alvaar didn’t overly mind. It was an oversized fox that didn’t shed on his clothes and cuddled like human contact was what kept it running instead of aether. He could live with that. He adored Crowe after all, and the chocobo was much the same (though he would hazard a tad more deadly.)

Eventually he could end up with a massive glowy white neck warmer stretched across his shoulders and then he could probably go back to work if it weren’t too strenuous. Today however, he opted for a brush, plucking the soft horsehair brush from one of the drawers and setting to task. It was completely pointless given the arcane geometries involved (or whatever it was, he didn’t have a mind for it) which apparently meant not only did a carbuncle never shed, but it’s fur was pretty much always flawless. Regardless, the summon on his lap chirped happily and purred away merrily as he smothered the creature with affection.

It usually got him an even more obnoxious cuddle monster for his efforts with a lot of nuzzling into his hands and neck and often several licks for kisses. That was usually when he knew there wouldn’t be getting much else done unless he wanted to stuff what was essentially a medium sized dog into his shirt, so he’d generally resolve to a nap or reading until either Alphinaud came looking for his summon or, much more likely, it eventually poofed away into the aether and he’d have to check the time. The Scholar always ended up asking him roughly what time the carbuncle dissipated back into the aether anyway for his research.

Today, with a carbuncle stretched across his shoulders and one hand still scritching under a fluffy jaw, he looked up from his book and noticed the few flakes of snow dancing outside the window. Snapping his book shut with a sigh he rose to his feet and set it aside. A few licks to his fingers made him pause long enough to nuzzle and kiss a squishy cheek, getting another cheery chirp before the carbuncle settled down with a purr.

“It’s cold out today. Let’s check on your master hm? I bet he’s face down in documents again. One day Carbi, he’ll drown in ink and it will be the stupidest possible death I couldn’t keep him from. And it will make me sad because I’m a shitty mage and I’ll lose my best neck warmer.” Scooping up one of his spare throw blankets he folded it over an arm and made his way out of the sleeping quarters, taking the back way so he could loop around the Solar’s blueprint and make for the study on the other side of it.

De facto leader or not, Alphinaud had never seemed overly keen to using the Solar, preferring the easy access to books and research materials. It made finding him easy. If he wasn’t there, or sleeping, then he was with Alisaie or already at Alvaar’s side anyways.

Sweeping into the room he shut the back door quietly, glancing at his borrowed summon as it lifted its head and fixed its dark eyes towards some small corner of the massive study. He followed the cue without pause, steps quiet with his house slippers on and found his wayward charge quickly.

Predictably passed out on more research. Or paperwork. Or legal documents. Maybe even all three given they all looked the same to him at a glance when they were spread over the large table.

“Well, that explains the wandering,” he whispered even as a bright white head squished up against his cheek, squeaking quietly. “Mmhmm, yes Carbi I know he’s hopeless.”

Moving the quill and ink pot somewhere less disastrous, he let the throw blanket fall into its full length. A practiced flick of his hands sent it fluttering out over the Scholars shoulders. Alvaar made a few last fussy adjustments anyway before pausing to regard the youth-no... that wasn’t right. He was 21 now and if he didn’t start impressing that change to heart, he’d have Alphinaud giving him pissy stares the rest of his life he just knew it.

21 and growing up just as handsome as he’d warned him in spite of the weight of a worlds troubles on slim shoulders... but, he pondered to himself, perhaps the crushing weight of responsibility just brought out the stupidly handsome looks in Elezen if Aymeric and Estinien were any indication...

Or himself for that matter. Alvaar wasn’t modest, he knew he was hot.

He shook his head and before he thought it through was petting a hand over snowy strands, soothing Alphinaud’s hair from his face and studying his expression a moment.

Noting the faint furrow on his brow he sighed softly. Another very late-night working on _something_ too important to leave.

“Better start on dinner and keep plenty of coffee ready hm?” he whispered, getting another sweet nuzzle at his jaw from the carbuncle.

Blinking as he caught himself still petting soft hair, the Bard snorted. “You’re both a pair,” he murmured quietly, smiling slightly as the summon licked his cheek.

“Yes Carbi, you can keep me company. You know your master works much too hard if he naps this soundly,” Alvaar mused, unsurprised that the Scholar was still dead asleep. He’d found Alphinaud and even Alisaie passed out in various parts of the Rising Stones before. Nothing short of cries of ‘politics’ or ‘adventure’ would rouse them without effort.

Maybe that was why he stood there a bit too long, petting white strands that were somehow even silkier if not as plush as the fur of the moonstone carbuncle purring away at his neck.

Alphinaud would probably die of embarrassment if he woke up and caught him.

It would just have to be the second potential stupid death of the day Alvaar couldn’t save him from.


	3. First Bite Vampire AU (Alvaar/Alphinaud)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Frame: Heavensward. No Spoilers. AU
> 
> Notes: A dumb vampire AU drabble where the twins are older and dhampire’s (half vampires). Vampires are the upper class and respected academics/mages in Sharlayan and so quite respected there, but wary mistrust everywhere else. Dhampire’s do not need blood to survive, but to replenish their magic. Everything else in the story is the same, more of an exploratory ‘what if’ because we ALL know vampires are kinda hot and I have no self control.

“You going to be alright?” Alvaar asked softly, studying the Arcanist still slumped against the side of the bed closer to the fire. He’d done his best to patch the larger holes torn into the long-abandoned cabin in the Coerthas Western Highlands, but even then the blizzard raging outside still blew frigid air through.

He wasn’t overly surprised when he only got a mute nod from the pale Elezen. Alphinaud hadn’t spoken much since he’d collapsed in the snows after a fourth abrupt bout with the Dravanian Horde during their scouting mission. With a barely breathing dhampire in his arms, unfamiliar terrain, and a storm rolling in, Alvaar had been given little choice but to try and hole up somewhere to wait it out. Finishing tacking up one of his spare oil skins over one of the shattered windows for insulation, he hopped down off a chair and moved closer. Tossing a few more logs on the fire and tugging the tipped over long table a bit closer to help reflect more heat into the sheltered alcove he’d made from what surviving furniture remained. It wouldn’t be the most lavish of accommodations, but there was plenty of wood to keep them from freezing to death and they wouldn’t be buried under snow. That would be good enough to get them through.

“Jerky?” he offered, holding the wax paper bag he dug out of his pack in offer. “Otherwise I might have enough stuff on me to cook something,” he continued, finding a seat beside him on the floor.

Still buried under the thick blanket Alvaar had wrapped him up in earlier, Alphinaud shook his head slowly, gaze fixed on some far-off point through the floor.

“You should eat something Alphinaud. And don’t start with a ‘only the blood of the living’ crap I’ve seen you eat scones and tea,” Alvaar chided.

“I eat solid foods yes. But it would be a waste right now. I won’t keep it down,” he murmured.

That made the Bard still before ducking his head to study him with concern. “You sick? You said earlier it was magic depletion. That’s a rest and eat well situation Leveilleur. I can do a broth or something instead?”

Again, he shook his head, seeming a touch more annoyed but breathing out a slow sigh before he winced with discomfort. “I... I’m afraid I didn’t account for this much difficulty in our travels. And in light of recent days and troubles it has been difficult to acquire fresh stock...” he mumbled.

Staring at him for a long moment, Alvaar finally piped in with a flat, “You need blood.”

The dhampire’s ears twitched, a faint flush coloring his face as he ducked his head. “I... I’ll be fine. It will be difficult, but I can make it until we get back to Ishgard. The shipment Urianger was orchestrating must have arrived by now.”

A long moment of silence stretched out between them, Alvaar chewing on another bite of jerky as he mulled it over before washing it down with a swig from his canteen and slapping a hand to the floor.

“Well, people got to eat,” Alvaar offered with a much calmer tone than he really felt. “It’s just a bit of blood, right? Nothing fatal?”

Alphinaud blinked at him in surprise, the first proper look Alvaar had gotten of him and the red of his eyes was a stark shift from the deep blue he was familiar with. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably, but he refused to let it show.

A few stunned moments ticked past before the Arcanist was nodding. “Y-Yes. I mean no, I mean... of course it’s nothing fatal I’m not savage,” he scoffed at last before his expression muted back out with a faint wince.

Alvaar studied him silently, noting the slightly hunched posture and the way the Elezen’s arms were wrapped at his stomach. He seemed almost sick from the Bards point of view, and in some manner he probably was. Alvaar was familiar with the feeling of starving after all, the gnawing almost sickening ache of an overly empty stomach...

“Then I’ll help,” he stated promptly. “Or donate, whatever you want to call it. What do you need me to do? Get a knife? Offer my neck? What?”

Staring at him in puzzled discomfort for a moment the Arcanist sighed heavily. “Nothing so dramatic... in fact I, well, I prefer drinking from a glass honestly that’s how I’ve consumed blood for years,” he mused aloud.

“... Holy shit do you just have fucking wine bottles of blood lying around in your fancy mansion in Sharlayan? Have you ever served it to a non-vampire?” Alvaar asked, tone purposely upbeat to keep them both distracted and given the nervously amused snort that escaped the pale Elezen it must have worked.

“In a fashion, yes I suppose so, and no. We’ve never mixed up the bottles. ... but a knife would be wasteful I think. It would also hurt more, and I would really rather... Just your arm please? If you’re certain...” he murmured, keeping his gaze lowered and obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Hey, what’s a little blood among friends hm? Sides, it’s better than the alternatives. I’d rather not see any problems today and, well starving sucks,” Alvaar murmured, holding his arm over after slipping it free from his coat and rolling up his sleeve.

The fingers that lightly gripped his wrist were eerily cold, enough to almost make the Bard flinch but he refrained given how guilty Alphinaud already seemed about the whole thing. And it wasn’t a big deal, it would be like a trip to the chirurgeons... just where needles were teeth... apparently...

“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this,” the Arcanist murmured, thumb trailing along the inside of the Bards wrist almost like he was measuring something. Then he was drawing Alvaar’s arm up even as he lowered his head, mouth opening wide and-

‘Have his canines always been that long?’ Alvaar wondered with a start, watching in morbid fascination as elongated canines set to his skin and-

“Ah!” he hissed before he could stop himself, gritting his teeth and still stubbornly staying put by force of will at the burning pinpricks he felt in his arm. The pain only doubled when the Arcanist jerked away abruptly at the sound.

“Sorry! Twelve above, sorry Alvaar I-” he apologized immediately.

“Don’t worry about it, just a reflex. Do what you gotta kid,” Alvaar cut in, lifting his arm a bit for emphasis. “Rude to waste food, right?” he joked.

The glower he got in return made him grin even as his heart was thumping instinctively with fear.

“I _meant_ sorry because I haven’t done this in some time and I’ve sort of forgotten the steps...” the Arcanist grumbled, a faint flush of embarrassment on his face. “Just... don’t judge, it’ll help.”

Alvaar had been about to question it before falling silent at the wet heat of a tongue lapping over the wound. He winced again on reflex, but the sting was already fading to leave only the pleasant warmth of the man’s mouth against his skin.

“Oh... that’s, neat?” he murmured, still morbidly entranced by the whole situation.

Alphinaud made a soft sound, more to let him know he’d heard him than for anything else. Darker eyes flicked to the Bard pointedly as he lifted his head slightly. “Better?”

“Yea. It’s fine.”

“Good. ... Could you... oh, never mind,” he huffed.

“Could I what?” he pressed.

“I was going to ask if you could look away but somehow, I doubt you would,” Alphinaud mumbled sheepishly.

Blinking at him in confusion, the Bard snorted when it clicked. “Don’t bite people much huh?”

It earned a flat scowl. “Not particularly. Were things not so dire I would prefer to just weather it out but... with all of the fighting since we arrived, I’ve depleted my aether reserves. Even half vampires still have slower aetheric recuperation than most every other creature-”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating but maybe explain it once you’re done?” Alvaar cut in pointedly. “Honestly, I think it’s more surprising you’re not just fixated on my blood.”

“I am,” Alphinaud shot back a bit sharper than he meant and quickly looking away. “... It just... helps. To think about other things and not the fact I’m starving. Wouldn’t you pace yourself so you don’t make yourself sick?”

“... Would you get sick?” Alvaar returned, tilting his head a bit in puzzlement.

“I... no, but what could happen would be worse and I would rather it not happen.”

“Lose control you mean,” the Bard continued flatly, taking the faint flush on the other Elezen’s face as a yes. “Listen I won’t hesitate to punch you in the fucking face if you start gnawing up my arm. This buffet ain’t open and it ain’t free.”

“You say while insisting I hurry up and drink...” Alphinaud returned drily.

“And you should before my senses come back to me and I change my mind. That’s my draw arm I’m offering and it’s going to be a pain in the ass firing while injured.”

“You won’t be injured,” the Arcanist returned promptly before setting his teeth back to Alvaar’s arm and this time he barely felt a thing. Well, he felt something distantly, like his arm was locally numb and he registered the pressure, but he could still clearly feel the softness of lips and tongue against his skin and-

It was a little unsettling how those smut novels were rather on point. It was sort of... sensual wasn’t it?

Looking off abruptly, the Bard resolved himself to not think about it. It was just to help a friend. A very annoying prat of a friend that also happened to be a half vampire or dhampire or... whatever it was. Certainly nothing to get this bothered over. Unless…

“... Wait, there isn’t some passive enchantment shit is there?” he asked, looking back at the snowy haired Elezen. Who wasn’t listening and seemed rather intent on the whole blood thing now...

Shite.

“Hey. There isn’t some mind control shit in all this right?” he asked again, louder and tapping Alphinaud’s shoulder as he tried not to panic.

Thankfully, it got his attention, pulling away with a parting lick and wavering sigh. “Beg pardon?” he asked, blue eyes back to normal but dark and vibrant and honestly if Alvaar needed to find words to describe the soft breathy way he spoke and look he was giving it would be something akin to ‘hour two of marathon sex.’ The urge to ask if he wanted a cigarette almost overrode any sense of propriety.

His question dropped off his mind as he noted the clarity of his own thoughts against the warm and almost sleepy look of the dhampire sitting next to him. If anyone here was charmed it wasn’t himself… And hadn’t Minfillia mentioned something about the Echo protecting his mind from outside intrusion in the past? … Damnit. He wasn’t supposed to be the one panicking here.

“You okay?” he asked carefully after shaking himself free from the thoughts.

“Fine. Perfectly fine,” Alphinaud replied, finally seeming to settle fully into the present and glancing down to where his fingers were still curled around the Bards wrist before lowering a hand to his tome. The healing spell was faint, but still as quiet and warm as the times before as it sealed the two pinpricks of blood before he let go and shifted away a few feet. “Thank you, um, yes, sorry for that and not to be rude but please stay over there for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Alvaar murmured slowly. “But you’re fine?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re not going to savage me...”

“Of course not.”

“So...?” Alvaar pressed after a few moments.

“.... What?” Alphinaud asked, giving him a wary look.

“I don’t get a critique on the vintage?” he joked.

“Alvaar don’t ask that...”

“Why not?”

“Because I really don’t enjoy hurting people contrary to public opinion of my kind and it’s a little hard to remember it when you taste that good,” he returned flatly before pausing, another faint flush coloring his face before he was hugging his knees to his chest in a sulk.

“.... You know I thought I would be... So, is it more like trying to pin down a liquid flavor or a solid flavor?” Alvaar continued anyway.

“We are not having this conversation Aldaviir.”

“I see how it is. Here I am, putting myself out on the line and-”

“Alvaar.” It’s said firmly but there was a touch of anxiety underneath, a note the Bard doesn’t miss in part because it’s reflected in the nervous gaze he’s getting. The glitter of ocean blue over the top of his knees where he’s still hunched over, arms wrapped around his legs and making himself as small as possible.

It’s not the first time he notices how naive and inexperienced the dhampire can be, but it is the first time he thinks perhaps the Arcanist may be more concerned over what makes him different than Alvaar ever was.

He blinks, meeting that worried gaze for a long moment before glancing away to study the fire instead. “You’re right, I shouldn’t tease you. I’m sorry that was out of line.” The quiet crackles of the fire and howling winds outside are the only thing to fill the minutes of silence that stretch between them.

“... How do you make jokes about it?”

The whispered question almost doesn’t reach Alvaar’s ears, but it does and he gives the Arcanist a puzzled look anyway.

“The people of Eorzea... They fear my kind. They only begrudgingly accepted any help from my Grandfather because the situation was so desperate, and they didn’t know what he was. Surely they might suspect it but they would never ask. The only ones here aside from the Scions that know what I am is you...” he murmured, carrying on when Alvaar remained quiet. “When my sister and I first arrived, we came across a caravan being overrun by bandits. The situation was so bleak, and the night was so dark, we had little choice but to use our powers to help them.”

Voice trailing off, the Arcanist buried himself a bit further into the blanket he’d been given. “They screamed. They called us monsters. When everything was over, they tried to kill us too. Alisaie said she wasn’t surprised. The ignorance of Eorzeans has always been a problem she said. But... I started to understand why.

“We don’t think of it much in Sharlayan, where vampires are accepted parts of society. Mortals donate blood freely and it’s preserved and kept openly. Many of the great advancements in aetherology have been made with mortal and vampire scholars working together. There’s no reason to be afraid of vampires because it’s taught to us from the day we’re born not to hurt others. Why would we have to take what’s freely given? We give back our achievements and research freely in exchange. We fight and work together. It’s a cardinal sin to turn someone into a vampire, or to willfully harm someone. Punishable by death or exile at the very least, a sentence that may as well mean death. But the people of Eorzea don’t see that. They only see us as monsters... as something approaching voidsent... So why don’t you? Why aren’t you afraid?”

Studying him quietly for a moment Alvaar pushed himself closer. Pausing briefly when Alphinaud tensed before carefully looping an arm around the Arcanist’s shoulders and pulling him into his side. Settling his cheek against soft white hair he blew out a faint sigh.

“You’re not a monster Alphi, you’re my friend. I made a promise to you and Tataru both when we fled to Coerthas. That I would keep you safe and protect you. I don’t make those sorts of promises to people I don’t trust and care about. What you are doesn’t change who you are right? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a friend with some interesting dietary needs.”

Blinking at nothing in particular, the dhampire made a slight annoyed face Alvaar couldn’t see but could hear. “It’s vaguely insulting to hear you distill my troubles down to something so base.”

Alvaar gave a soft snort of amusement. “Sorry. Not my intent. It’s just... not a big deal to me personally Alphi. The world at large has its reasons, and I’ll admit I was wary at first but we’re really not that different. Sides, whatever you took I feel fine so it doesn’t seem that big a deal to me.”

“Your blood is... unusually aether rich,” Alphinaud commented after a moment. “It wouldn’t take very much.”

“No shit? Well, I barely cast magic anyway, so I guess that’s fortunate for next time,” Alvaar returned easily.

“Next time?” The incredulous look on the Arcanist’s face had the Bard trying extremely hard not to laugh.

“Yea next time. There always ends up being a next time for this sort of stuff. Gods, read a book Leveilleur,” Alvaar joked, pulling away enough to steal part of the blanket and readjust it over both their shoulders.

“What sort of books are you reading where there’s an invariable need to take blood from someone ‘next time?’” he persisted, frowning as he was once again pulled into the Bard’s side.

Ruffling fluffy white strands absently, Alvaar stretched out a bit, crossing one boot over the other and settling back against the broken bed frame. Leaning his cheek against Alphinaud’s head, he gave a faint squeeze of the arm around him. “Come on, quit fussing and get some sleep.”

“That’s not you answering my question Alvaar,” he complained.

“I have my sources. Now hush, we should get some sleep while we can.”

The Arcanist blew out an irritated breath but didn’t argue it further. Though he did make a reasonable effort by the way he shifted and the several bothered huffs he made as he got comfortable of letting Alvaar know he was beyond annoyed. It just made the Bard chuckle in amusement, again ruffling soft strands gently before closing his eyes and slipping into the easy light sleep that was waiting to claim him faster than usual.

It made him miss when the Arcanist finally eased into his side, shifting a bit closer into the Bard’s warmth before falling into a quiet sleep himself.


	4. Masterwork (Alvaar/Alphinaud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Time Frame_ ** _: Post Shadowbringers. No Spoilers._
> 
> **_Notes_ ** _: Onesided Alphinaud/Alvaar. Again featuring the best moonstone summon there ever was. All hail the carbuncle fluff. Glory to the glowiest and fuzziest neck warmer._

These were the sort of days that he lived for. Quiet, peaceful, and left to while the time away on absolutely nothing. No one kicking in the door with the next plot twist in their lives. No emergency threat or enemy, or... missing utensil or whatever else could somehow become an emergency...

Alvaar was not a man who generally liked to be idle, but with how horrifically busy his life had become once his name had been made synonymous with ‘Warrior of Light’, it was a welcome change when it found him.

Usually his hands would be busy with a commission or side project but for once he was caught up and the day oddly free. It meant he could cook an actual meal or two, perhaps make it the bulk of a way through a new novel, and probably take a nap in the afternoon shade. Hell, he might even pick up his harp later and grace the local tavern just for fun.

But for now, he was content sitting in the study, mostly buried under the glowing white fur of a moonstone carbuncle, listening to the furious scratch of a quill while he read. Alphinaud always seemed to have something to do, shut up in the study with Scion work or his own research when there were no pressing meetings or trouble. If nothing else, it made finding someone to try his latest baked good easier, some soft flaky pastry he’d learned from a baker on his latest travels.

It had paired rather well with mulled tea, though he might need to change the spices a bit. Still, the steady movement of pen nib and tempo of the chronometer on the wall were making him sleepy. A fact not helped by the cozy warmth of the carbuncle draped over his chest in the lazy slouch he’d assumed, nuzzling further into his neck as he pets soft fur idly. Failing a fifth time at the same passage he gave up and let the book fall closed, setting it aside and hugging the large summon tighter a moment as he shut his eyes.

An early nap indoors was just as good when he got plenty of sun and wind in his travels. Having a cozy soft cuddle monster for company wouldn’t be remiss either.

“Alvaar would you mind reading this over for me, I want to make sure it’s clear what our intentions are,” Alphinaud asked, perking up after a moment when he received no reply. “Alvaar?”

Looking up he blinked at the small couch the Bard had reclined in, raising a brow at the bright glow of his summon curled up on the man’s chest. He was seldom ever surprised to find the carbuncle on Alvaar’s lap when his thoughts drifted, though when the Bard asked, he insisted he had no idea why.

Rising to his feet he paced over quietly, tilting his head as he studied Alvaar’s face as he slept. A fairly deep sleep for the Bards usual if he hadn’t stirred awake yet. Usually he was a rather light sleeper, waking even if you just stared at him for too long.

The moonstone carbuncle perked up at his approach, offering a friendly chirp of greeting.

“Little brat,” he murmured fondly, petting the summons ears gently. “You know better,” he chided despite himself. He’d spent years telling Alvaar that his summons were incapable of conscious thought and now he was treating it like it could... Bard nonsense was truly contagious.

There was no mystery to the carbuncle’s behavior. Not when you had studied and designed it at least, or that was what he swore by. Whatever weird quirks of behavior were all from the embellishment of the design. Those extra lines and orders he’d woven into its arcane geometries, some old patterns from his previous summons, and others new.

It wasn’t strange at all that this carbuncle had the highest penchant for finding the Bard when it was idle. It had been designed specifically to help protect others after all. Imbued with healing magic and protective spells, the best of his white magic that he could muster. The product of years of research and a vow to protect and help those they could yet save. Countless tweaks and revisions, putting a bit more of himself into it each time.

And if there were a few extra lines in that geometry specific to Alvaar well, it was logical when they worked so closely together.

Because he worried about him and his safety.

Because he’d vowed to himself that Alvaar would never have to feel alone.

... Because he adored him and wanted to keep him safe in whatever way he could.

Reaching over to grab the throw blanket Alvaar had made and _insisted_ stay over the back of the study couch, he settled it over him carefully. An unsubtle mimicry of the many times Alvaar had done this for him.

Pondering it a moment he sat down beside the Bard carefully, setting his letter that still needed proofing on the end table. Slipping a bit further down in his seat so he could lean his head against Alvaar’s shoulder, he sighed softly.

Well, he really should have someone look over that letter before he sent it, and it was his last bit of Scion work for the day. A nap sounded like a good idea after hours of diligent research.

It was definitely not from being the faintest bit jealous of his summon who got to cuddle up against the Bard freely. Even if he did think Alvaar carrying the large creature was quite adorable.

As if privy to the thoughts his summon tilted its head to regard him, chirping again softly in question. It was a sound he knew, specific to asking ‘who’ as it often would when needing a target. It quickly fell into soft purrs as he pets its head, silently reassuring that everything was fine and it had picked the correct person. Which was something that really should have required words now that he thought of it...

Just a quirk. Not sentience.

If Alvaar had his personal masterpieces, the songs he’d crafted himself to embody his ideals, then perhaps this was the beginning of his.

.... he just really hoped that Alvaar would find him handsome instead of adorable when he finally brought up the fact he was in love with him.

.... and that maybe he was just a bit taller too.


	5. Close Call (Alvaar/Alisaie/Alphinaud)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Time Frame_ ** _: Post Canon. No Spoilers_
> 
> **_Notes_ ** _: Established Alvaar/Alphinaud/Alisaie. Prompt fill for the[Rest Prompts](https://alvaar-aldaviir.tumblr.com/post/620319256873222144/rest-prompts). Anon requested the following:_
>
>> _Fog - hearing stay awake as they are carried to safety._
>> 
>> _Repair - being confined to bed due to injury or illness and hating every second of it._
>> 
>> _Misfit - getting out of bed too soon, insisting they feel much better, and collapsing / passing out._
>> 
>> _All three: In which both twins are sidelined and Alvaar has to care for them?_

Alisaie wasn’t entirely certain what happened. She remembers rushing ahead, trying to reach one of the Brass Blades further away from them. A young hyur, newly recruited and eager to prove himself on the field. Undoubtedly the sort to find themselves into the most trouble. From there it’s... hazy.

Fire. A very loud noise that felt like it was still echoing in her skull. And what seemed like far, far too much blood but from where she wasn’t...

She wasn’t...

Gods she was exhausted. Exhausted and cold and sorely wishing whatever she was curled up on would just stop with the bouncing about already.

Distantly she hears something familiar. Something important. Something demanding she pay attention.

There’s a flicker of red and white robes in her blurred vision. A gentle touch to her head that reminds her of years long past. Of the Ruby Sea and one of those rare times she finally felt like someone had approved of and been genuinely proud of her. Alvaar’s hand settling into her still damp hair after she’d successfully distracted and escaped the Red Kojin, and the warm and approving smile he’d given her that had soothed the ache of past failures even for just a moment...

It’s not Alvaar she sees. This hyur woman is too short, a long and wild mane of russet hair framing a stubborn but gentle face.

“Stay awake,” the woman murmurs, voice low but calm even as she issues the order with the maternal confidence of a seasoned healer.

“What?” Alisaie asks, or tries to at least, as the word catches in her throat and wheezes out instead.

“It’s not time for you yet,” she explains simply, hand still settled against her hair and ruffling pale strands with a familiar motion. “You need to-”

“-STAY AWAKE!”

It jars her from her thoughts, some of the fog lifting to look up at the Bard currently carrying her. The grim set of his determined expression as he drags in air with deep and almost bestial breaths while the battlefield blurs past them.

Distantly she can hear music. Feel the warm breeze that usually follows him when he’s worked his Bardic abilities to full swing.

“Stay with me you hear? Keep listening to my voice and don’t drift off. I mean it!” Alvaar demands, voice louder than normal and rough from the sprint he’s making.

She wants to listen to him. This is probably the most demanding he’s ever been in her presence. The last thought she has before she slips under is that he and that White Mage seem very alike.

Alisaie wakes up to a steady and deep ache in almost everything, but especially focused on her right side. Propped up slightly against pillows and a modestly comfortable bed in a darkened room. When she tries to feel out the damage, she comes to the puzzled realization her right arm is in a sling and her left hand is tangled up with someone else’s. Before she can even try and push herself up to sort things out there’s a warm palm settling to her collarbone and pressing her back down.

“Don’t,” Alvaar murmurs from somewhere in the dark before the bed she’s laying on dips a bit as he perches beside her. Pulling away he fussed with something nearby before the strike and hiss of a match sounds as he lights the bedside lamp.

It throws a warm light about the rustic room they’re in, setting shadows to dancing across wooden supports and plastered stone. Some small study converted into a makeshift private medical ward.

“You look terrible,” she remarks without thought after meeting Alvaar’s pale gaze, the Bard still a bit bleary eyed and the shadows emphasizing the fatigue on his face.

“Yea? Well you don’t look like roses and kittens either,” he remarks flatly before a weak grin tugs at his mouth in spite of himself, brushing her short hair back with a careful touch. “But I’m glad to see you awake. You gave us all a scare.”

“Did I? Where’s Alphinaud?” she asks, glancing around. “He should be here any minute to harp on me about staying in bed and recovering...”

“Next to you.”

That makes her blink, finally looking down and noticing the second lump under the thin blanket beside her. Settled as close as he could get without disturbing her, fingers threaded tight with her own even as he slept.

“You’re very lucky. You only got hit with shrapnel. Barely missed your lung, but you were bleeding so badly... Alphinaud drained every drop of aether he had getting you stabilized before I could get you back to the chirurgeons,” Alvaar whispered.

“What happened?” she asked, still not looking away from the face of her twin and the worried set of his brow even as he slept.

“Stray magitek shot hit one of the ceruleam tanks on a broken reaper,” Alvaar murmured. “Sent metal shards everywhere.” The toughened fingers that soothe over her hair draws her attention back to him, studying the tight look of concern on his face. Cupping her jaw gently, he strokes the rough edge of his thumb along her cheek, a tender gesture she shifts into without thought. Shutting her eyes as he leans in closer, she stays quiet as he presses a kiss to the top of her head and nuzzles into her hair before going still and savoring the closeness. It speaks more of his concern than any amount of chastising or flowery words. Evoking a quiet and soft sort of warmth in her heart that almost always gentled the sharper edges of her words and personality.

“M’ okay,” she mumbles. “You don’t need to fuss. I wanted to sleep anyway.”

“Good... Could you humor me? Just a moment longer,” he whispers, words soft and airy as they’re breathed so close against her skin and it makes her heart thump despite herself. Giving an answering hum before he’s cradling her face in both hands and pressing another kiss to her nose. Her brow. A few more feather-soft presses of lips against her cheeks as his fingers brush along her ears before his forehead and nose nudge against hers and stay. Warm and tender and filled with the all-consuming love the Bard just seemed to give as naturally as breathing.

“I love you,” she murmurs without thought, wishing she could wrap her arms around him even as she thinks it doesn’t matter when they still feel that close anyway.

“Love you too, my dearest chevalier. Please, for just a bit, no brave heroics? I know that’s your default, but you probably shaved a year or three off my life today and this world needs you,” Alvaar returned quietly.

It ruffles her ire just a little, as being sick or injured always does. But she’s tired and sore and the warmth and patient intimacy of the moment win her over in the end.

“Alright... But I expect fresh tarts and tea tomorrow,” she breathes, smirking faintly at the huff of amusement that leaves him.

“I’ll do my best with what I’ve got. Get some rest, I’ll be here if you need anything.”

“You know I hate being bedridden,” Alisaie huffs the next morning, even as her injuries throb faintly as she remains leaned into Alvaar’s side with her cheek resting against his shoulder. She heaves a slow breath and waits for him to turn the page of his book given her reading speed is faster than his own. There’s a temptation to tease him for only having romance novels and sheet music on him, but the opening chapter had been enjoyable enough to still her tongue.

“I do. What page do you think the smut scene happens on?” he asked lightly.

“How long is it?”

He paused to flip to the back. “... 432.”

“Mmm I bet 120,” she answered frowning a bit at his following snort.

“Amateur,” he remarked lightly, smirking with amusement.

“Oh? Pray tell what’s your guess?”

Holding the page with a finger he flipped the book closed to study the thickness a moment before checking the page number of a seemingly random section. “They’ll do a cocktease at around 250 to build tension but won’t do the actual act for at least another 50 pages. It’s too slow burn even for a one off to happen a quarter in. Too much focus on a plot and world setting.”

It earned a faint chuckle from her. “I’d place a bet on that but somehow I’m inclined to believe you’ve read enough of these sordid tales to know.”

“It’s something to do and the novels are cheap,” he answered before they both perked up at the third occupant of the bed as he stirred with a soft noise of protest.

Pushing himself up to sitting, Alphinaud groaned faintly as he rubbed at his face sleepily, long hair ruffled and sticking up from where he slept on it. It made Alisaie unconsciously reach over to pet it smooth with her good arm given Alvaar was too far away to beat her to it.

“Good morning Alphinaud,” she announced simply, studying him blankly when he gave a start and looked back at her with wide eyes.

“Alisaie,” he whispered, staring at her in disbelief a moment before he reached up to grip her hand in his and give a brave if slightly teary-eyed smile. “I am glad to see you awake and well dear sister. I... we both were concerned for you.”

“I’ll be a sight better when Alvaar lets me out of this bed,” she huffed but gave her twin a faint smile anyway even as he frowned faintly.

“You had best stay put until the chirurgeons give you leave of it,” he chided flatly.

“Or what? You’ll park a carbuncle on me?” she challenged wryly.

“I very well may.” Casting his gaze over to Alvaar, his expression softened further. “I see you are up and about as well my friend. I’m sorry to have left everything to you by falling asleep. It was not my intention.”

A shrug rolled off a broad shoulder flippantly as the Bard tossed a hand in nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it. I just had to assist your spell with Bardsong, not dump my everything into it. You needed the rest more than I did.”

“But neither was I the one that returned to the fray to lead a decisive charge,” the Scholar shot back frankly.

Meeting the scrutinizing stare, Alvaar offered another faint shrug. “And here I am, resting. I would suggest you do likewise. I brought you breakfast. I would have done your hair too, but you were quite content where you were. Hold still and let me fix it for you.” Snapping the book shut once he’d tossed a bookmark in place, he set the paperback aside and eased away from Alisaie’s side.

Squinting out the open window and the daylight blazing outside Alphinaud shook his head. “No, it seems to be well past noon as is. I should gather the reports and the recent status of our positions,” he countered, already slipping out from the covers and sweeping his hair back into some rough sense of order.

“Hold up a second would you? At least take a moment to eat something,” Alvaar chided, slipping to his feet and starting to round the bed.

“Knowing you? It’s likely something I can eat on the way,” he returned with dry amusement. “I’ll be alright, but undoubtedly Raubahn will be interested in my insight and I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

The Bard paused at the corner of the bed, frowning faintly at the Scholar who now stood an easy two inches above him.

“If it makes you feel better, I can bring them back here to review?” Alphinaud offered, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt before moving for his longcoat draped over the back of a nearby chair. He’d made it all of three steps before his knee buckled, Alvaar swooping in abruptly and catching him before his head could meet the floor.

Studying him with a flat look, Alvaar tsked under his breath. Shifting his grip so he can release a hand and press the back of it to the Scholar’s brow. “You’re running cold. Aether deprivation... Come on, Raubahn and the Alliance will make do without us. Let’s get you back in bed where you’re going to eat something alright? I’ve got a potion or three in my bag.”

“I’m fine... just... slipped,” Alphinaud huffed.

“You almost smashed your skull on the floor Alphinaud, I would do as Alvaar says,” Alisaie remarked flatly from the bed, now parked towards the center of it where she’d yanked herself on reflex in fright.

“Come on love, don’t be stubborn,” Alvaar murmured, scooping him up in his arms and lifting him easily. A slight amused grin tugged at his face as the Scholar glowered at him.

“I’m fine,” he insisted again.

“Sure. Humor me anyway? I don’t need any more scares today. My heart can’t take it,” Alvaar argued lightly, getting the man situated back on the bed and fussing the blankets back over him.

Alphinaud was less than happy about it, even as a small plate of cinnamon rolls was held out to him and accepted.

“This is far too sweet for breakfast,” he snipped softly.

“It will help give you a boost. If I’d known when you’d be waking up, I would have had a drink ready for you. But cold tea or coffee is the worst, so what do you want me to fetch you?” Alvaar asked lightly, ignoring the Scholar’s sour mood.

“Coffee. ... thank you.”

“Tea for me please,” Alisaie chirped, mostly because she knew Alvaar was about to ask anyway.

“Alright. Stay in bed the both of you. I come back and you’re gone, I’ll tell Y’shtola,” Alvaar threatened as he collected a few empty glasses and plates before excusing himself.

“... Pest,” Alphinaud remarked after the Bard’s steps had faded.

“Definitely,” Alisaie agreed as she leaned into him, plucking a cinnamon roll off his plate and taking a delicate bite. “But I suppose we both have to suffer being bedridden together,” she murmured after swallowing and taking another bite.

He made a noncommittal noise, but even then he leaned back into her shoulder gently. The pair sharing a silent reassurance that the other was fine.

“Y’shtola’s not even here,” Alisaie commented lightly.

“I’m not taking chances,” Alphinaud returned promptly.

“Me neither.”

Curled back up in bed with the pair a few hours later, Alphinaud on his third ether with his hair freshly brushed and braided, and Alisaie having just had her wound checked and another wash of restorative magic on her deeper wounds, Alvaar casually flipped the page of his book. Alisaie was slouched down enough to rest warm and cozy against his right shoulder and Alphinaud mirrored on his left. It was almost, if he ignored the circumstances entirely, like a weekend morning when things were relatively peaceful. Those rare times they could all lounge in bed late into the day and be comfortable together. Something so innocuously domestic he could still scarcely believe it possible for him.

It was a thought that left his heart soft and warm, and given the fright of the last day the Bard hoarded it close as he often did with these quiet moments.

“So, when do you think the smut scene happens?” he asked lightly on reflex.

“I still think it’s sooner,” Alisaie pointed out. “There’s no way it doesn’t happen before page 200.”

“No, there’s too much world building, it will take longer than that,” Alphinaud commented, puzzled at Alvaar’s soft chuckle and his sisters look of betrayed disbelief.


	6. Just Ask (Alvaar/Alphinaud)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Time Frame_ ** _: Post Canon. No Spoilers_
> 
> **_Notes_ ** _: Established Alvaar/Alphinaud. Because yea…. Alphi really should just ask for a hug._

“Alphi, I’m back. Sorry for not sending word the last few days... first time the damn linkpearl’s fallen out and naturally a damn monster stepped on it. I’ll pay for another one,” Alvaar remarked as he paced into the study. Tataru had been kind enough to direct him there to find Alphinaud after giving him an enthusiastic greeting at the front desk, as well as the ominous advice to ‘have an apology ready.’

He knew linkpearls weren’t exactly cheap, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to afford it off even just his pocket change. Taelis’ savvy for selling in the Sapphire Exchange really was a godsend, and he looked forward to them both being able to comfortably retire early at their current pace. Well… Taelis could retire, he wasn’t certain being Hydaelyn’s Chosen with a long list of achievements and titles ever really LET you retire…

An excited chitter sounded before Carbi was bounding over to him, short legs trotting furiously to put the large summon into his leg and furiously twining around him like an over excited house coeurl. Having to halt as his legs got bound up in glowing white tails, Alvaar chuckled.

“Greetings to you too Carbi,” he cooed, ruffling and patting sleek fur even as the carbuncle kept moving with happy squeaks and rumbling purrs. “Come on now where’s your Master? He can’t be that far. I’ve an apology to make it seems.”

Alvaar was startled as a low thunk sounded, the tall Scholar actually skidding across the polished floor as he rounded the corner of a bookshelf and halting off center in the main aisle way to stare at the Bard. Blue eyes were half wild with panic and concern alike before he blinked and seemed to shake himself out of it. Straightening up to his full height after glancing between his carbuncle and Alvaar for a long silent moment he finally paced forward with considerably more calm and poise.

Even so the silence set Alvaar’s hackles to prickling uncomfortably, making him put his hands up in defensive protest. “It was an accident I swear.”

Carbi finally halted at an insistent quick whistle, scrambling away to the side as Alphinaud paced towards him with sharp ominous clicks of his boots on the stone.

Despite himself and the many horrors he’d faced, Alvaar flinched and offered a weak grin. “Sorry?”

He stilled as Alphinaud gripped his hands firmly, tugging them down between them and sharp gaze glancing over them with an inspecting look before fixing to Alvaar’s eyes. The concern finally seemed to ebb into a milder anxiety, reaching up to brush an ink-stained thumb over the Bard’s cheek.

“Are you well?” he asked softly after a few more moments of silence stretched out between them.

That drew Alvaar up short briefly. “Yea of course. Just a regular field mission. Sorry I didn’t send word; I was just starting back and my damn linkpearl broke. Didn’t seem worth it to send a letter when I’d beat it here.”

The fingers that settled to his jaw were gentle even as they trembled faintly before Alphinaud ducked his head and blew out a steadying breath. Lifting his chin back up he flashed a weak smile.

“Then I’m glad you’ve made your journey no worse for wear. I... admit I’d begun to worry when we hadn’t heard anything for several days, but accidents happen. I’ll have a new linkpearl ready for you by tomorrow so don’t fret over it. We keep a few spares for such occasions,” he offered, tone polite and forcibly even.

“Alphi,” Alvaar started, halting as the Scholar drew back with another slow breath, now pointedly looking away.

“I won’t keep you. You’ve had a long journey.”

“Alphi...”

“Thank you for letting me know...”

“Alphi!” That finally made the Scholar stop in his retreat, ears flicked back and twitching even as he froze.

“... You know you can just ask right?” Alvaar remarked, taking a few steps closer so he could lay a hand to the Scholar’s arm gently. “I’m your boyfriend before I’m the Warrior. You can say you were worried sick and you want a hug.”

Finally tilting his jaw to meet Alvaar’s gaze briefly he quickly glanced away as his eyes started to well up with unshed tears. “... I... Alvaar?”

“Yea?”

“... I know it’s impossible to promise but... please don’t do that again. I thought I’d sent you to your death...” he whispered, voice wavering and making him clear his throat stubbornly.

“I’ll do my best. Sorry I scared you. ... That it? Cause if you really want to be left alone, I can go,” Alvaar asked carefully, keeping his tone as neutral and free of judgment as possible.

Alphinaud hesitated a moment, drawing in a steadying breath before turning to regard him shyly. “Could I-?” He gives a faint start as Alvaar steps smoothly into his space and embraces him, arms sturdy and warm as they wind about him and hold fast.

It makes him melt a bit into that hold, burying his face into the Bard’s neck and threading his arms around his lover too. He doesn’t say anything for a long time but wrapped up in the Bard’s arms and pressed close enough to breathe in the man’s scent, he doesn’t really have need of words anyway.

Sometimes the simplicity of an embrace is really all the reassurance he needs.


	7. Remind Me (Alvaar/Alisaie/Alphinaud)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Time Frame:_ ** _Post Canon. No Spoilers_
> 
> **_Notes:_** _Established poly relationship between Alvaar/Alisaie and Alvaar/Alphinaud. Twins are 22+. Mild NSFW for brief mentions of sex with vague detail._
> 
> _Rating on this was boosted to 'Mature' to make this a more flexible place to post drabbles and other works involving established relationships or angstier topics I'm not certain belong in the Movement series (which I'm now treating as definitely canonical.) I will NOT be boosting this further to Explicit. Any smut I may post in the future would be in a different work entirely._
> 
> _As always, I'll be continuing to have a more specific description on a chapters contents in the Chapter Note so you can safely know what you're getting into and bypass whatever you need. Apologies for any inconvenience._

“It’s okay Alisaie,” he huffs against her ear, arms holding her tight. “It’s alright. You’re still alive.”

It wasn’t remotely fair that the Bard always seemed to know just what to say to tear her apart. To make the tears start up and for the shock to creep in.

There’d been so much blood... so much fighting. Her ears were still ringing faintly with the thunder and her body aching from the force of the shockwave.

She could have died. That canon shot could have hit her instead and...

She could have died. She could have-

“You’re alive,” Alvaar reassures, gripping her face and making her focus on him. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

His hands are warm even through the sheets of rain and it’s like fire against the ice that’s filled her. And before she even thinks of it she’s gripping his face and hauling him into a needy and desperate kiss as she latches on to him like the world might end.

“Ali-” he manages out before she’s kissing him again and again until they’re both breathless standing in a torrent.

“Remind me,” she breathes in the space between them, fingers curling around his ears and the tangled wet mess of his hair. She hates begging, but at the moment it’s preferable to whatever thoughts and memories are threatening to drown her.

“Ali, come on you should see a chirur-” he protests before his jaw audibly clicks shut as she yanks him with her towards her tent a few steps.

“Remind me Aldaviir. Before it becomes too much,” she mumbles thoughtlessly, shivering in the icy rain and curling in towards the heat of him.

He hesitates for a moment, concern writ clear on his face before settling into a determined calm. And then he’s hefting her up easily and carrying her off into the tent she’d been issued by the alliance.

It’s dark, and a touch too cold, but it’s dry and someplace free from prying eyes and that’s all that matters right now. All else she needs is the feel of those warm hands and hotter mouth gradually reminding her of the inches of her skin and the spaces filled between. The places where her pulse continues to pound like a drum in rapt defiance of mortality, and where whatever’s been left empty and wanting in her is patched roughshod with heat and primal need.

It’s quick and rough and dirty and between every shudder and shake and gasp and mewl there’s the reassurance she’d been looking for. Not anything simple and tied up with lace, easy and saccharine and perfect. But something passionately inelegant. An ache she could understand to cover up an instinctive primal terror.

And if the rest of the camp knew about it... well, she wasn’t perfect.

It’s not until she feels the faint press of a kiss to her nose and a hand stroking over her cheek that she realizes she’s still awake. Buried in tight against blazingly warm skin as they lay side by side under the heavy blankets on her cot.

There’s a quiet sort of tenderness there that’s directly at odds to the quick and heated romp they’d just shared. If she hadn’t known the Warrior of Light and Darkness for so long it might have been jarring. But she did know Alvaar, and the treatment is hardly unusual.

Besides, the careful way calloused fingers trace the lines of her face seems equally as important to the rough reminder of still being very much alive.

Like there were a hundred different small wounds covering that theoretical self she needed to be reminded of, and the gentle treatment was the balm to heal them.

So she lay still and let his fingers wander. Let the feel of it touch and soothe over whatever was left of that soft place in her heart that still remained. The quiet insecurities and fears and foolishly innocent parts that remained after six years of struggle and conflict.

Yes, she was still here. And somewhere, deep at the heart of this quiet sanctuary she’d found refuge in, was her reason for facing the next day. For fighting a hundred wars to protect it, if need be. This quiet sense of safety and peace and love and hope for better tomorrows. It isn’t perfect, and sometimes it hurts almost more than she can bear, but it’s hers and that is somehow enough.

“Come on Ali... wake up just five minutes for me okay? You’ll feel better if you’re cleaned off and redressed.”

She only offers a sulky grumble in reply at first, hugging tighter to him as Alvaar attempts to pull away. “It’s fine,” she insists at last. “Quit it.”

“Easy for you to say now. But I give it five minutes tops before Alphinaud throws in the tent flap to see if you’re alright. Come on dear, I like my head where it is, and I like to think you do as well. Work with me,” he begs gently, ruffling mussed strands fondly.

It gets a begrudging huff from her before she finally releases him and lets the Bard sit up to light a candle and start making order out of the chaos they’d left in their wake.

“Honestly... as if my brother would ever lay a hand on you. He loves you almost as much as politics, but you always sound like he’s two seconds from punching you,” she groused as she cleaned off with the washcloth he handed over to her.

“Alisaie, I think you underestimate how very much your brother cares about you. He may love me, but you’re his sister. That’s a bond I can’t and won’t ever try to compete with. He’d rip my balls off if I ever hurt you, and I’m honestly worried he’d succeed. It’s always the peaceful ones...” Alvaar mused, picking through clothes before hanging them up and digging through her footlocker.

“I thought it was the ‘quiet ones?’ ... Mmm, never mind,” she teased softly, raising a brow as he held up one of her old skirts. “Not your color.”

It made the Bard pause before eyeing it closer and holding it to his waist. “Sure? I think I could make it work. I look good in anything.”

It earned a spluttering laugh from the Red Mage, before taking his other offer of bed clothes. “Fiend.”

“You keep it up and one day I’ll model your clothes for you. You’ll have to swear off your whole wardrobe because I wear it better,” he warned, cheeky enough to wave a bra at her and earn himself a swat on his arm.

“Don’t stretch out my clothes,” she huffed, focusing on slipping into the thin shirt and sleep shorts instead of how oddly intriguing that threat was. “You better find something if you’re so certain my brothers stalking his way here as we speak.”

“I’m working on it, but you’ve given me very little to work wi- aha! I knew you stole these pants,” he chirped from behind the lid.

“I haven’t stolen anything from you. ... not pants at least...”

“No, Alphi’s. They’ll fit well eno-” he broke off at the hurried splash of rain and mud outside and quickly tugged them on before slamming the lid shut and perching on it seconds before Alphinaud burst in.

“Alisaie!” The Scholar cried, drawing up short at the sight of his sister and Alvaar both sitting innocently and studying him flatly.

“Alphinaud,” she replied evenly.

“I’d heard that... and then... but you...” he paused, still gasping for air before giving Alvaar an incredulous look. “Are those my trousers?”

“They look good on me, don’t they?” Alvaar asked, putting a leg on display for him.

Shaking his head, he looked back to Alisaie, then the hanging clothes, then back to Alvaar and the fact the Bard was pointedly not meeting his gaze. Snapping his stare back to his twin abruptly as the realization hit, he gestured between them in open mouthed silence a moment before drawing up to his full height in visible upset.

“Alphinaud,” she started before he cut her off.

“I hear reports that you nearly died on the front, run all the way across the encampment when I finally hear word you’re not in the infirmary but that the Warrior of Light carried you to your tent and you... you BOTH...” he paused to gesture at Alvaar before his anger peaked with a flash in bright blue eyes. “You BOTH know better than to-!” He cut off, as Alisaie rose and gripped his hands, pulling him back to focus on her and not where he’d nearly stepped in Alvaar’s direction.

“Alphinaud,” she stated firmly, pausing as she finally noticed how red his eyes were as he dripped rainwater. “That’s on me. I asked. And I’m not asking you to understand, but I’m asking that you not be angry, because if not for Alvaar I most definitely wouldn’t be alright right now. In fact, I’m probably still not but... it’ll be okay,” she finished in a murmur.

The Scholar stared at her for a long moment, glancing over at Alvaar pointedly as the Bard held his hands up in a hands-off gesture.

“... You’re unharmed?” Alphinaud asked at length, gloved hands finally shifting to grasp hers as well.

“Physically. I’ll be fine. Still a little rattled unfortunately,” she grumbled.

“Don’t be down on yourself for that,” Alvaar remarked gently. “It’s part of processing.”

Making a sound of agreement, Alphinaud tightened his grip over his twin’s hands, a warm glow of healing magic lighting up between them. “As long as you’re alright,” he murmured. “Thank you, Alvaar. ... I know you have my sisters’ best interest at heart. ...Questionable as the path there may be on occasion.”

Alvaar glowered a moment before sighing. “Fine, I deserve that. In my defense I did try and get her to the chirurgeons.”

“And what stopped you?” Alphinaud remarked, a touch sharp and still obviously irritated.

“Alphinaud,” his sister huffed, though staying still as her sibling continued healing her.

“Do you really wish to know?” Alvaar asked after a moment before rolling his eyes and waving it off. “Forget that, you always do. It’s because I’ve been there. You know that, I know that, I’ve brushed with death more times than should be humanly possible. You didn’t ever wonder why I was off in Camp Dragonhead after handling Ultima? Because I assure you it wasn’t just delivering letters,” Alvaar replied bluntly, pausing and visibly restraining himself as a touch of anger had entered his words. “Sometimes it’s too difficult to deal with. Sometimes you don’t want to sit and wrack your brain with terror or survivors’ guilt. Sometimes you just want a distraction and reminder you’re still above ground and breathing and capable of feeling something.” Flicking lavender eyes up to regard both twins as they stared at him, he shrugged dismissively. “Healthy? Questionable. Effective? Well enough, clearly. In any case, quit with the looks, this isn’t about me. I just understand the feeling,” he grumbled, making a shooing gesture at the both of them.

Blinking at his sister, Alphinaud gave her a curious look in the silence, shifting his grip on her hands again when she looked away.

“... He’s not wrong,” she murmured finally. “Don’t give me that look. You know that Alvaar has a habit of knowing me better than I know myself.”

“Alisaie...” he started before trailing off and drawing in a steadying breath. “As long as you are okay, that is what matters most to me. I apologize, to you and Alvaar both, if I seemed judgmental. I was simply concerned for your wellbeing and I let that fear get the best of me. I’m glad that you’re safe.”

“I get it. You don’t need to make a big speech about it,” she huffed before giving him a small but fond smile, hesitating a moment before hugging him.

“Ah, I’m still soaked from being out-”

“Stuff it,” she cut in, gripping him tighter and only easing slightly when he finally hugged her back. “... You’re cold.”

“It’s raining cats and dogs out there if you hadn’t noticed,” he remarked, firming his hold as he felt the faint shivers of his twin.

Noting the glance Alphinaud sent at him, Alvaar gave a flippant shrug before rising to his feet and beginning to rummage through the footlocker again. Finally pulling a spare set of the Scholars own sleepwear from the bottom of the trunk he set it on the lid before moving to straighten up the cot and pull dry blankets and sheets together. Honestly at this point they all had bits and pieces of each other’s clothes stashed somewhere.

“May as well hang your stuff up to dry somewhere and get comfy. We’re not going anywhere tonight,” Alvaar explained.

“I’m not keeping you here,” Alisaie huffed.

“No, quite the contrary. We’re keeping you here so just get used to it. No running off to brood either, weathers atrocious,” the Bard tutted.

Seeming about to protest a moment, Alphinaud paused as Alisaie rested her forehead on his shoulder with a grumble of ‘For such an inspiring Hero you’re a hell of a pest...’ Meeting the look Alvaar angled at the pair, he read the man’s expression and the single hand he patted to his heart without a word.

It would be better if they both stayed. Alisaie needed them.

Not that he’d required Alvaar to cue him in given the way his siblings hands were still curled tight in the fabric of his long coat.

“Well if it’s what Alvaar thinks is best. And we both know your track record for sneaking out of infirmaries when you should be resting,” he replied with a faint teasing lilt to his tone.

“You’re both insufferable.”

Even so, she hadn’t let go and that said plenty.

It doesn’t take very long for Alisaie to find herself wedged between the two of them in an overcrowded cot. Curled up with the same comfortable close space she’d shared most of her life with her twin.

And even with the warmth of Alvaar at her back, the Bard wrapped around her protectively like he always did, there was something equally important in the loose hold of her twin with fingers linked between them. Some silent soul deep reassurance and understanding that they’d shared most of their lives.

He’d been deathly afraid that she’d been wounded or killed. The same feelings she had felt when she’d chased across battlefields and camps to see after him in the past. The same dread that had filled her heart earlier as they moved for battle even knowing he would be far from the front lines running strategy and communications. Because no matter how they might bicker or argue or not see eye to eye on something, she knew in her heart if she lost Alphinaud it would be worse than losing a limb. Maybe even worse than dying.

She couldn’t fault him for being upset earlier. Were the roles reversed, she would likely have admonished him for recklessness as well after being so afraid for their safety.

Even so, she was glad to have such selfish behavior forgiven. Were she alone right now... she shudders to think of it and pauses as Alvaar’s arm loops firmer about her waist in answer even as Alphinaud’s fingers tighten over her own.

She’s not alone, they both subconsciously remind her. And though she knows she’ll still be a bit rattled on the morrow, still trying not to think about those that had been slain beside her while she lived on, she knows she won’t be alone for that either.

It’s one of many reasons she continues the fight, just a single reason among a myriad list, but drifting off cozy and warm between the two most important people in her life, it makes all the difference.


	8. Hang Me for a Fool (Alvaar/Alisaie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Time Frame:_ ** _Post canon. No Spoilers_
> 
> **_Notes:_ ** _Older Alisaie (21). A speculative idea that takes place before their relationship is established and they’re still in an open relationship._

Alvaar hadn’t been quite certain what to expect as he’d paced into the Drowning Wench at Alisaie’s behest over linkpearl, but it probably wasn’t finding the Red Mage seated at a table filled with several sailors of various rapport. And while Alvaar preferred to stay neutral to some of the more unsavory expeditions that left out from Limsa Lominsa’s harbor he fancied that he knew trouble when he saw it.

Funny how it wasn’t the pirates for once...

Gaze fixing to the tall and lean figure Alisaie posed even while seated, he noted the few telling quirks that suggested a bit too much ale had found its way into her cup, the flush most apparent. The first three buttons of her shirt undone to vent the heat on an otherwise cool evening was the second. The long, tangled wave of white hair framing her face was the third. But probably most apparent, from Alvaar’s perspective, was that she was sitting with probable pirates at all. Though given the look she was giving he didn’t think it was about to end well.

Her weapon was still belted firmly at her waist, a hand resting easy on the pommel in readiness. Then there was the forward lean into the table as she listened raptly to whatever the man across from her was saying. The slight narrowed set of her gaze and far set stance of her feet told him plenty about the direction of the conversation.

Of no consequence to most, but then most hadn’t seen her flip a table and incinerate a chair in a bar brawl with brigands before.

She wouldn’t thank him for swooping in to perform a rescue, but he’d rather a few sailors/pirates didn’t end up skewered just for trying to chat up a pretty lady at a tavern. While he could admit a faint touch of annoyance at the scene, so far it looked as if he could probably sympathize. Besides, Alphinaud would probably give them both grief if she ended up in trouble with the guards again...

Cutting a quick path across the room, he called out a greeting. “Ah, there you are darling. Started without me hm? Few hours jump too by the look of it.”

Shooting him a flat look briefly, it buffed off immediately once she recognized him under the fur rimmed hood of his Twin Adder jacket. There were few other ways to describe the sweet smile that followed the surprise, but ‘glowing’ would probably be a good start.

“Hey, there you are. Took you long enough... if I’m six deep it’s because you probably took the scenic route,” she shot back.

“Mmm, so I see. Alright come on. Time to get you to bed I think you’ve had enough Ali,” Alvaar soothed, pulling her up to her feet carefully and slipping one of her arms over his shoulders. The fact she didn’t fight him at all probably meant she’d lost count at six... Gripping the drink she was still holding before placing it firmly back on the table.

“I paid for that...” she lamented, reaching for it again and pouting when he held it down.

“I’ll reimburse you. Come on. Your brother will skin me alive if I let anything happen to you. So, help me help the both of us,” he reasoned gently.

“Aww, don’t be a spoilsport. Lady was just havin’ a bit o fun,” one of the sailors chided. A well-muscled and handsome Miqo’te sporting earrings, tattoos, and telling scars that more than convinced Alvaar “sailor” was a PR term.

“Yea man. Don’t go robbing the tavern of a pretty face just to keep it to yerself,” rumbled the weathered Roegadyn beside him.

A soft giggle sounded from where she was leaned against his shoulder. “Spoilsport...” she whispered with amusement.

“Sorry lads. This one’s mine and I’d like to keep it that way. Can’t be letting her get shipwrecked on more interesting shores. I’m still quite taken with her,” Alvaar apologized, earning a booming laugh from a few of them. “Next rounds on me, thank you for being so understanding.”

“Oye. Yer alright Archer. Get yer maid on home then. For she finds something more robust in these waters,” another sailor laughed.

It made Alisaie squint at him, Alvaar immediately scooping her up into his arms and managing a rather fancy bow while she was still too surprised to start issuing challenges.

“Much obliged sirs. Barkeep, next rounds on my tab!” Alvaar called before beating a hasty retreat up the stairs to a chorus of cheers.

“What was that about?” Alisaie accused flatly, even as she settled a hand on his far shoulder and eased into his hold comfortably.

“My being deplorable in an effort to withdraw in otherwise good graces. I’d really rather not be on the bad side of half a ships worth of pirates Ali. Especially when I’ve just swooped in to make off with quite the catch,” he explained politely.

“You know what I meant. That was a whole roundabout talk of dicks,” she huffed.

Alvaar made a slight face, smiling sheepishly. “Ah, and a clever prize you are. Forgive me. Sometimes it’s easiest to reason in the local tongue, I really meant no offense. You can thrash me later for it, but for now perhaps get some rest?”

“Scoundrel,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder with a faint sigh. Rubbing her cheek against the warm leather of his coat, she glanced up at him. “...You mean all that?”

“Ali, I would never be so crass in regard to you...”

“That I’m yours Aldaviir,” she cut in for clarification, fingers clenching faintly against his jacket. “If it was anyone else saying tripe like that so casually, I’d run them through and maybe laugh about it later,” she whispered. “But for you? For you that almost sounds nice...”

Flicking a glance down at her, he kept his pace moving up the steps to the room he’d rented. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“A no then...” she inferred flatly with a snort. “Going to at least keep my bed warm?”

“Depends on how you mean that,” Alvaar countered, but the way her fingers were slipping to the collar of his coat had already made it clear enough.

“Also a no then,” she sighed, perking up as he reached one of the rooms. “Which pocket?”

Blowing a faint sigh, he rested back on his heels. “Left breast pocket. No funny business either.”

“Spoilsport...” she huffed at him with a faint grin before retrieving it from him and taking a few attempts to slide it into the lock and open the door for them with effort. “... m’ not drunk, shut up,” she groused as he snorted on a laugh.

“You’re not _shit-faced_ Ali, but you’re definitely drunk. High functioning but still. Shall I set you on your feet or will you punch me if I lay you in bed?”

“I’ll definitely punch you.”

Another soft chuckle left him as he set her down, rising back up and going still when she immediately leaned back into him. Lithe but deceptively strong arms looping around his chest and holding firm even as she relaxed into him with a sigh, nuzzling against his neck.

“Gods you feel good,” she murmured, breath hot against his skin and making him twitch.

Exhaling a long and slow sigh, he wrapped his arms around her carefully, grip tightening as she nuzzled further against him. “You’re a devil,” Alvaar huffed.

“Is it working?” she asked, a crook of amusement in her words.

“No. I’m used to fighting devils. But that doesn’t make them any less tempting...” Alvaar breathed, soothing a hand along her spine unconsciously.

“Sure we couldn’t just have a go? I’d really like that...” she whispered, tilting her chin to press kisses along his jaw lazily.

“Mmm. Not happening. You’re worth a lot more than that and I’m not interested in being a drunken regret,” he reminded quickly.

“Alvaar you’re not a regret... You could never be.”

“Even so. We’re not serious. That was the agreement.”

“ _Fuck_ the agreement...”

“Last I recall, it was _you_ saying it was casual, Alisaie,” he returned a touch sharply, making her flinch a bit. “And now I’m dragging you out of taverns and... you don’t even _like_ pirates. You hate them actually.”

“... The Miqo’te was cute,” she mumbled.

“He was, yes.”

“No, the other one. She went to get drinks.”

There was a long beat of silence at that, Alvaar finally leaning back a bit and earning her nervous look. A sharp squeak of distress left her as he cupped her jaw in both hands, squishing his thumbs into her cheeks firmly. “You’re deplorable. And if you see her in the morning you better point her out because now I’m intrigued.”

“Bwah! Qweet eeeeet!” she whined, pouting at him when he finally let go. “Spoilsport...” she repeated.

“I adore you,” Alvaar stated firmly, making her blink up at him in surprise. “If you asked, I would gladly commit in a heartbeat and you know that. But you don’t. You keep saying we’re casual, but whenever we cross paths you’re stuck to me like glue. I don’t get what you’re playing at Alisaie. I know you’re not this cruel, so why don’t you just tell me what it is?”

Studying him for a moment, she glanced away guiltily. “I can’t... I just... I can’t. You’ll know why when it happens.”

“When _what_ happens?” he asked, voice gaining an edge of faint frustrated upset.

Shaking her head some, she continued to avoid meeting his stare. “You’ll know when it happens.”

Studying her for a long moment of silence, Alvaar finally blew out an annoyed sigh. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Alisaie was silent for a few beats, finally flicking a nervous glance at him. “Are you mad at me?”

He was quiet a moment in thought before speaking. “A bit. Mostly because I’m baffled at what exactly we are, but I suppose I don’t hold it against you either. Agreements are agreements. I don’t expect you to fall in love with me and settle down just because I care immensely for you. But I can’t lie about my feelings either. I can’t just stay around as a fling long term. If you want to be free and explore that’s perfectly fine, but I’m in too deep to stay that casual. My floozy days are soundly past Alisaie. I told you that in the beginning of all this.”

“I know...” she mumbled sadly. “... Am I hurting you?”

“... A little,” Alvaar murmured. “But to be fair I did it to myself too. Should have stuck to my guns and just kept it at a one-time thing.” Cupping her jaw gently he tipped it up so he could meet her gaze, pale eyes narrowing a bit as he studied the guilt coloring her face. Stroking a thumb over her cheek he finally relented and blew out a deep sigh before his expression softened with bittersweet sadness. “Hang me for a fool... but I trust you anyway. It’ll probably break me, but I do. I always have.”

Twitching an ear in wide eyed surprise she swayed slightly on her feet and gripped onto his jacket automatically to steady herself. Working visibly for words she finally managed a baffled, “... Why?”

“I told you. I’ve never known you to be cruel. Blunt and a bit brutal in word and swordplay sure, but not like this. So I hope whatever it is that’s caught your tongue let’s go soon and you finally start talking to me about it. You know I won’t ask for every little thing to be laid out between us, but I’ve always preferred my partners to be honest.” He wouldn’t say it, but the faint shine of unshed tears that welled up in her eyes were part of the reason too. In the many years now stretched out between them, he’d never known her guilt or tears to come from a place of selfishness. It was why he accepted her against him so easily as she buried herself against his chest with a soft sniffle. Wrapping his arms about her and rubbing at her shoulders gently.

“Come on Ali. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I love you.”

It’s so quiet Alvaar almost doesn’t catch it. Felt more in the heat of breath at his neck than anything else as he rouses slightly from where he’s been dozing off on his back with her curled up against his side. He rumbles a sleepy hum, tilting his head a bit where his cheek is rested to fluffy white strands in way of question.

It doesn’t get a verbal response, but she shifts against him enough to nuzzle against his jaw. Featherlight presses of soft lips to his skin and it almost does him in. A slow burn of white heat singing through him as he drags in a deep breath filled with amber and wildflowers and whatever was just uniquely _her._ Soft and calming and whatever primal beast of instinct that lives under his skin is already smitten with it. Rumbling for more. Even to indulge in that warmth and passion, and to _protect_ it against everything else. To hold close and love and cherish it, this vibrant flame that’s somehow chosen to stay here beside him instead of anywhere else more deserving of it.

He loves her dearly, in a way that’s different from but in the same devoted vein he’s known before.

Looping his arm tighter at her waist, he lifts his jaw to disengage before thunking his chin against the top of her head in faint reprimand. “Go to sleep Ali,” he chided softly, feeling her still in surprise. “You know I adore you, so get some rest.”

It’s not quite what he wants to say. He wants to say it back, to murmur the word like the magic and poetry it is. Promise and providence all in one.

But he can’t. Not with things as they are between them, bringing pain on himself he knows how to avoid. Not when it feels like a curse of death... inviting the world to take one more thing he loves away from him.

To think it is one thing. To _say_ it... to speak that magic and invite that suffering again...

“... A month,” she mumbles against his neck, drawing him from his thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“Give me a month,” she repeats, voice growing more resolute. “I’ll have my answer for you then. I promise. Not a day later.”

Staring at the dark ceiling of the inn room blankly for a bit he gives a soft sigh. “Alright. Not a day later. But not a thing more between us until that answer alright? I’ll wait for that reply but I’m not putting my feelings on the chopping block like that.”

She gave a weak nod after a moment, another soft sniffle leaving her that she tried to keep as quiet as possible. Despite himself it made his heart melt in sympathy. He always wanted to think he could be indifferent when it was needed to protect himself, but he really was just a love-struck fool where she was concerned. Shifting to his side he curled up around her, holding her close and enjoying the feel of the arm that wrapped around his waist and squeezed back too. In his heart he already knew what her answer would be, what it had always been... but if a month was what she wanted then he’d certainly waited longer for things before.

He just... really hoped he wasn’t wrong to place his trust into this...

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in more fluff? I'm currently open to any of the [following prompts](https://alvaar-aldaviir.tumblr.com/post/620319256873222144/rest-prompts) on my tumblr! You can either leave a comment on tumblr or a comment on this work. I respond to both!


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